


Tale of Simmons

by Overseeing Overseer (KnightCaleb)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Gen, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightCaleb/pseuds/Overseeing%20Overseer
Summary: Simmons' life was never easy, but he is yet to encounter the worst. Getting the task to help in the eviction of his helpers he wonders what he can do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in a hopefully longer series of stories starring barely named or even unnamed characters from Dishonored that caught my fancy.
> 
> General info about Simmons can be found here: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Simmons  
> I will more than likely include all the canon information in the story bit by bit.
> 
> Conroy and Captain Jameson are my characters.

„ _It's them or us... Just do your job_.”

The captain's words were still ringing in his ears following his steps, his heart sinking deeper and deeper by the minute. The mere thought of betraying them made him nauseous, seeing their faces lit with joy at first, then confusion then anger and sorrow in the end. His name racing through the air, „Gilbert” as he would hear so often but now twisted by horror and fear and carrying a silent „why?”.

Why? Because he had to. Because he had no choice. He never had any to begin with: the world, fate, the Outsider, didn't matter what or whom – but something was relentlessly toying with him as he lived his sad little life that had no purpose whatsoever, but to entertain some otherworldly power. Much like how men tortured and played god with animals of all sizes and sorts. Some said it's for our betterment, but what use do dog-fights even have?

„Simmons?” the third time his name was spoken, and the first he heard it. „You okay? Y'were making funny faces like something was itching in your boots or someth-”

„I'm fine.” interrupted the aforementioned guard who, by now, gathered his thoughts that were scattered all over.

For once he was very grateful for Conroy's neverending stream of words which allowed him to get enough time to find a way back to reality. His companion was, as one would call it, a gobshite, and when the dam of his mouth opened, a tidal-wave of either uninteresting banter or incomprehensible ranting was released to the great dismay of everyone within an eardrop.

„That's... good...” he mumbled although it reeked from his visage that he wasn't quite processing what information he got right. It's true that he was as sharp as his City-Watch issued sword that was right now hanging loosely by his side getting tossed left and right by its owner's every move. The belt that was supposed to fasten it and keep it orderly was almost at it wit's end threatening to snap at any moment. A sight rather uncomforting for Simmons who, by now, had told his mate to always keep a hand on it to prevent it from cutting into something it wasn't meant cut. The advice fell on deaf ears.

„Got any coin on him? Tried to bribe you or maybe had a good pair of boots on his feet, I'd like those. Can I get those?” the same hopeful if a little too eager questioning that happened whenever they found someone alive. One couldn't blame them: getting by during these times, especially for low-level fodder as them was toilsome and the pay was unsatisfactory to say the least.

Still Simmons thought they had to keep staying true to their uniform no matter if whom they encountered was a noble or a beggar. The reactions of the other guards always made him stir a little and put a slight grimace on his face.

„Uhm, it's quite alright if you want them, you found him in the first place.” Conroy was surprisingly apologetic, a fact that made Simmons marvel how his fellow guard assumed so much from a single facial expression and quickly gave a coherent answer while he was seemingly struggling to grasp the simple spoken answer he got earlier. Perhaps he was too fast for his own good inside in contrast to being simply damp to the outside world. Simmons wondered if the kid's mind had it's own plane of reality that rarely, if ever, intertwined with theirs. That would explain a lot.

He finally put a stop to his mind's ramblings, sighed and gave a tired look to Conroy who started to shift from one leg to another feeling the air of awkwardness quickly setting in.

„Look, it's not that, it's just...” he paused considering whether he should tell the man what it truly was that slowly went on to consume his soul like the great ocean eating away at a sinking ship. For a brief second, he really wanted to believe that this fellow guard would understand, that Conroy would offer some kind of support, be a lighthouse in the storm.

„I don't think that nobleman meant any harm, he wasn't hostile at all. I mean, he maybe wanted to talk to Timsh...” he sighed, feeling the heavy weight that the faint glimmer of hope lifted a little, descending back onto his soul.

„'bout what?” curious as ever, even when he'd better shut his ears and stay ignorant about certain things.

„I guess some kind of business” Simmons remembered a nobleman regularly paying the Barrister visits. Nonetheless, his wasn't the duty of playing detective and investigating, so he didn't want to get stuck with the subject which would've surely happened had he hadn't started to walk his rounds again. Standing still was irksome anyways. „I'm not really the type to snoop around or steal boots off of a living person” added he just to settle the discourse.

„Yea, I know. It just... really stinks to be us, you know, Lower Guards and whatnot.” said conroy while hurrying next to Simmons. It was what they were all thinking. It wasn't too great for the common guard before the plague but lately, the world was simply unforgiving.

„I know... but we must do our job” sighed Simmons with more misery in his tone he'd have liked. He thought of his captain again, his words concerning him and dealing with the Forrestals, and how he reached the lowest point in his life just now. What was worse is that he expected to go lower still.

„You're a good man Simmons.”

He felt it like a punch to the heart. Looking into his companion's eyes he opened his mouth to automatically give a response, a quick „thank you”, but he couldn't make a sound. Conroy was genuinely trying to console him as if he knew the question in Simmons' mind that was haunting him all of his life, sometimes transforming to a hideous monstrosity of a statement: „Am I a good man?” „Am I doing things right?” „I am an awful and terrible person who can't help but do heinous crimes just to save his miserable life.”

Conroy answered the question and at that moment, Simmons believed him.

„You too Conroy.” he allowed himself a weak smile that he felt was genuine enough for the occasion. He hated faking them.

Conroy smiled back, but his usually lit up face now carried a sad hue and Simmons could've sworn his eyes were greyer and muddier than their usual glowing green as they faced one another.

Simmons opened his mouth again, feeling some strength to thank him and perhaps share one of his dear memories offering perhaps a desperately sought after camaraderie while also reminding himself of better times.

The words however stuck in his throat as he noticed a stern figure approaching from the end of the street.

„What are you two thinking chattering up the place like two little ladies?! You should be guarding the premises! We're called Watch for a reason!” strong and brusque, the captain's voice boomed making both lower guards wince. Worse was that the soldiers over on the square must have heard every word which didn't help the reputation of the Lower Watch. Like they needed that what with them having to practically share the same uniform just with differing colours. All the while the reddies had somehow more authority and benefits than their green counterparts.

Startled as they were, the momentary silence following the captain's outburst granted the two guards enough air to open their mouths in protest; Simmons to take the larger part of the blame and Conroy, undoubtedly, to show reason behind their perceived lack of discipline. Conroy's reasoning never sat well with the higher-ups though.

Both of their intentions were squashed however by Captain Jameson's death-stare – that's what they called that anyway, even going as far as joking about it being the „most lethal force of the Watch”.

„Back to your posts at once! Conroy, you'll be patrolling till midnight, no breaks!” the harsh order came leaving no room for argument, meaning that Conroy still wanted to try and fill the air, sucking in a breath and almost beginning to talk but the captain had already turned to his mate. „As for you, Simmons, you keep on guarding our mysterious guest for half an hour more, then we're heading to the Forrestals. I trust you're getting properly prepared for the task.”

„Yes, sir.” the response came quick, like a reflex. It carried no meaning and held no real purpose. Some things just have to be said. Some things just have to be done. Simmons swallowed, trying to compose himself, collect his thoughts. His mind was empty. There were times he'd have welcomed this, but now the hollowness only made the tragedy more pronounced. The calm before the storm.

„Captain, I request a minute to...” against all logic Conroy was still trying to accomplish god knows what.

„Conroy I swear to the Outsider, if you open your fucking mouth one more t-” somehow it was even more terrifying to hear the Captain almost whisper, and seemingly being a moment away from exploding.

„But I have to pee!”

„PEE IN YOUR CAP FOR ALL I CARE! You're not getting any time off and if I so much as hear you breath I'll make you _lick_ clean the latrines!”

That was that. Even Conroy admitted now his defeat and miraculously wasn't inclined to continue. Embarrassed he turned around and faceplanted straight onto the cobblestones. Captain Jameson cursed, detailing how miserable he was getting to lead such insolent fools who trip even on their own with no reason whatsoever. He fell silent when Conroy wasn't responding to his commands nor the kicking. Simmons just glared at the scene, all quiet and slightly disturbed.

„Check the noble. Now!” said the captain, almost whispering merely glancing in his subordinate's direction.

Simmons sprinted to the door leading to the building they locked the man in. He instinctively reached for the knob not realizing something was amiss even as he opened the door.

The noble was missing. The room gazed back emptily and traces about what happened were nowhere to be found.

It flashed through his mind: the door wasn't locked. He felt around his belt but it wasn't there.

Someone stole the key.

 

 


End file.
